Lights
by hpdrfan1
Summary: A one shot comedy of the "gang" getting drunk, Remus being the only sane one there. Pairings: James/Lily, and Sirius/Remus now you understand the rating! Enjoy, and R&R! As always


**A/N: Well, if you've read the summary and pairings, you all obviously know why the rating for this story is so high…one shot comedy! Please R&R!**

"D'you ever think," Sirius hiccupped, lolling a lazy hand upon the rim of his glass, "that it would be benefi-- benefu-- good for these glasses to come with lights in 'em? So you could see if there's any more left?" He began to rock the glass backward and forward in his hands, thumbing it with the same drunken grace he would with a bag of galleons or a lovely celebratory lay after a victorious Quidditch match.

Peter, who was slightly less smashed than Sirius at the moment, found Sirius's comment hilarious and consequently banged his head against the wooden table in an elative stupor. "Lights! How convenient!" Peter howled, banging his empty mug against his thigh. James snorted with restraint, although his eyes twinkled with amusement. The only sober pair of eyes in the room gazed upon Sirius with distaste.

"D'you ever think," Remus remarked casually, "about _electrocution_? You know, the whole liquid plus spark-- in this case, lights-- would equal a trip to St. Mungo's or worse?" Remus cocked his head to one side; he was wasting his time on the lot of them, for none of them would remember a thing in the morning. Massaging his temple, Remus saw out of his peripheral vision a flash of wild red hair.

"Whossit?" Lily said rather affectionately; she'd had a few too many drinks herself, and had nestled herself between James's thighs on the floor. James looked like he'd died and gone to heaven, and thusly began to preen excessively while Remus raised his eyebrows considerably.

"Sirius wants lights in his drink," Remus said, straight-faced. A beat passed, and Lily's face cracked into hysterical laughter, almost as body-shaking as Peter's holler previously. "But-- that's just brilliant!" she chortled, pointing at Sirius and giving him looks of admiration and confusion. It was obvious that she was very, very drunk. James got a kick out of it.

"Evans has a sense of humor! Egad!" James breathed in a mocking tone. "And I thought she'd lost it all with those years with the Mugglewhatses."

"_Mugggggggggles_," Peter growled from his face down position on the table.

"I just wanted some lights, for Merlin's sake," Sirius murmured, rising from his chair unsteadily. It was rather dim in the room, and Remus noted that walking around sober would have been an accomplishment, let alone pissed out of your mind. It took Sirius seven and a half steps to trip and fall face first into Remus's lap.

"Well, this is comfortable," Sirius noted, voice muffled by Remus's trousers. "Really, your lap quite resembles a cushion. _Mmnnff._ " Remus squirmed slightly, but Sirius merely tucked in tighter, locking his hands in Remus's pockets. "Don' even think 'bout moving," Sirius slurred, snuggling ever closer to Remus's torso. Remus gulped, and then stared at the mess before him. Peter had passed out in his seat, while Lily and James were in a tonsil hockey match to be remembered throughout the ages. Sirius, of course, was digging his face into his lap… and Remus was sober. _Sodding_ sober.

"It's not that I _dislike_ my cushion aspects, but really Sirius, you need to get off now," Remus said with finality as he felt his nether regions begin to twitch. Standing fluidly, he turned to leave them all in peace… of course, luck always tended to fail Remus in his times of need. In one short step he had banged his toe against Peter's left loafer and was now on all fours with Sirius ogling his remarkable fall.

"D'you ever think," Sirius whispered, crawling toward his in languid moves not unlike something stalking its prey, "about how much easier this would be if you were drunk?" Remus would have said something along the lines of _'What's this now, you know my metabolism doesn't allow me to feel the effects of alcohol the same as you petty humans, har har' _when Sirius began conducting his own game of tonsil hockey in Remus's mouth. At first it was only tongues, slippery and tasting of Firewhiskey, but then the clattering of teeth joined in, following by a moan or two, and then a silence as they both tasted each other for the first time.

Remus was frightened. He was supposed to be the_ responsible_ one, he wasn't supposed to take advantage of an obviously drunk Sirius-- a tongue ran its way around Remus's lips while the sober young man craned his neck back and grunted softly-- he wasn't supposed to do anything except be there and yet what the _heck_ was he doing?

And why the_ heck_ won't he stop?


End file.
